THE VISIT

The Visit

Christine’s head throbbed as she stared out the kitchen window at dusk, watching the gathering storm clouds. A pulse rising painfully from her heart began when the day started its journey into night, and she remembered the time six months ago when she got the terrible news. The pasta sauce simmering on the stove, the steaming noodles draining in the sink, and the warm smell of her homemade bread just out of the oven did nothing to soothe her. Memory replayed the knock on the door. She had opened it to two police officers, young men looking nervous, like they wanted to be anywhere but where they were. They said there had been an accident. Her mother had crashed the car and was in the county hospital. Christine had driven frantically, but she hadn’t made it on time. She never got to say goodbye.

Rosemary had been her fortress during the three miscarriages in six years of marriage. But now she was gone, and Christine missed her, especially in the fading evening light, with a storm brewing, pasta sauce simmering, noodles in the sink, and the bread on the counter.

A squeal and a thump of a garage door opening and closing alerted her to Jason coming home. Stepping into the kitchen, he slipped off his loafers.

“How’s my girl today?” His usual greeting as he hugged his wife.

She wanted to say, ‘I’m good,’ but the false words stuck in her throat. Instead, she released herself from his grasp and turned to bring food to the table. As she did so, she removed her glasses to wipe at the smudge his warm cheek had left.

He placed his hand on her shoulder, “Chris, why don’t we sit for a moment, relax, and have a drink?”

He got a beer for himself and a wine glass for her.

“I’m sorry, honey. This time of evening is hard for me.”

“I know.” He poured the red wine.

“All I do is think of Mom at this time. I never said goodbye. I miss her so much.”

“I know. Making Rosemary’s favorite meal tonight was not exactly a help, Chris.”
He tapped his beer bottle to her glass as a toast. “Take all the time you need, hon. It’ll get better.”
The wine went down sour in her throat. “I would be happy to see her again, just to say goodbye.”

Outside, storm clouds thickened, lightning cut through the sky, and thunder bellowed. The electricity sputtered and went off, blanketing the kitchen in darkness. They lit the table candles. Chris, with her wine, and Jason, with his beer, tried to relax in candlelight and stoke the thoughts of happier days, trading silence for a thread of spoken memories.

“You know what I miss most about mom?”

“She was warm and loving? And very helpful at times?” Jason volunteered.

“Yes, but what I miss most are the things that used to annoy me.”

Jason tilted his chair back almost to the point of tipping and took a leisurely swallow of beer, “Annoy you? Like me tipping my chair back?”

Christine sighed, “Jason, stop it. You know how she annoyed us with snide remarks, snippy answers, and drama. And, yes, straighten your chair.”

“ I’m sorry, hon. I know what you mean. But, sometimes, she was funny.”

Raindrops burst from the sky, assaulting the windows and obscuring the sound of a knock.

“Did I just hear somebody at the door?” Jason went to answer.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Who on earth would be out in this storm?.” He jerked the door open.

A fierce wind howled, blowing in a gust of rain. The candles flickered and almost went out.

“What the hell?”

Christine rushed to the door, recoiling and taking a step back.
Like a shadow, unrecognizable at first, a figure stood shrouded in a black hood with a face, pale and obscure, staring at them. In the semi-darkness of the candle-lit kitchen, the face began to focus, taking on a familiar look. Christine’s breath caught in her throat. The rain pounded; another lightning flash waved through the dark sky, and thunder roared.

“Mom?”

“Rosemary?”

“Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Rain-soaked and leaving wet footprints on the floor, the figure walked past them. Strands of black hair infused with silver plastered to her face as she removed the hood, then hung the moist coat on the back of a chair. Candle flickers reflected like strobe lights on the wetness.

“Ah, I’m in time for supper. Pasta! My favorite! And candlelight! How romantic.”

Christine and Jason stood, stunned, as rainwater rushed inside.

“Well, you two, aren’t you going to sit down? Christine, please bring me a towel for my hair. For heaven’s sake, close the door. You’re flooding the kitchen. I came for a visit, not a swim.”

In a stupor, Christine went to get a towel as Jason slammed the door shut. She helped the woman wipe the strands of wet hair that had escaped the hood.

“Mother?” She asked with tear-filled eyes.

Jason immediately grabbed a bottle of gin and poured it into a water glass. “I think I need this.”

With shaking hands, Christine reached for a plate, filling it for the woman.

“Well, aren’t you two going to eat?” The voice sliced the kitchen air as raindrops battered the roof.

“Wine?” Jason grabbed the bottle fiercely to keep from shaking.

“Yes, thank you, Jason.” the woman said.

Christine returned to the stove to fill two more plates. Realizing she had been holding her breath, her heart pounded hard as she released several shallow sighs. Her mother was ravishing pasta as the candlelight flickered on her damp hair, the strands that didn’t make it under the hood.

“Mom,” Christine broke the silence. “Where did you come from?”

“From Heaven,” the woman answered. “Could I have a slice of bread, please?”

“Heaven.” Jason echoed as he rose to get the bread. “And why did you choose to come in this terrible weather?”

She buttered her bread, then used it to wipe the sauce pooled on her plate. They waited for her answer as she took a leisurely bite, a fork full of pasta, and a sip of wine.

“I like drama. Would it have packed any punch if I arrived on a bright Sunday afternoon?”

Christine and Jason looked at each other. “Yup, that’s Mom, alright.”

“Why are you here?” Jason ignored his pasta and reached for the gin.

“I came for a visit.” She replied. “I love my daughter, and I’m tired of seeing her waste every evening staring out the window like a zombie.. I thought she needed me at this moment.”

She looked at Christine and curved her pale lips into a smile.
Christine tried smiling in response but only managed half her face, looking more like a smirk.

Christine’s voice trembled when she asked, “What is Heaven like?”

Rosemary took the last bite, then pushed her empty plate to the center of the table, rising from her chair.

“I’m anxious to get back. What does that tell you? Good supper, hon.”

Absorbed, as they were with their visitor, no one noticed the silence outside as the raindrops had lost their strength and the thunder sounded distant.  Christine rushed to put her arms around her mother as the woman put on her coat. She was repulsed momentarily at how thin and overly soft her mother felt, like hugging a bundle of clothes in her closet.

“Mom, don’t go yet.”

“I must, dear, it’s time. I came to let you know I’m fine and want you to get on with your life. Stop mourning me.”

Jason, not as anxious for her to linger as his wife was, offered her a ride as they walked to the door.

“An offer to drive me to Paradise, how sweet.” She padded his arm. “ No, thank you. I’m good.”

Rosemary softly touched her daughter’s stomach, “You’ll have another visitor soon, dear. Stop drinking that wine.”

Christine had been afraid to tell Jason. They had three disappointments; she was scared to be pregnant again.

“How do you know?”

“Will you name her Rosemary after me?”

Not waiting for an answer, her mother smiled.

“I love you both.”
“We love you also, Mom.”

“Look, it stopped raining.” She walked confidently into the wet night.

“Goodbye, Mom.”

Rosemary turned toward her daughter.
“Goodbye, dear.”

The kitchen lights fluttered and came on, flooding the candlelight. The storm had moved on. How fitting!

Jason squeezed Christine’s shoulder tenderly. “We’re having a baby?

“Yes. I hope this is the magic time.”

He put his arms around her in a soft hug. She did not push away to wipe the smudge his kiss left on her glasses.

“Oh geez, Christine, look!”

At where her mother had sat, sauce, pasta, and wine pooled on the chair, dripping to the floor below.

Christine wiped a quiet tear from the corner of her eye.

“I got to say goodbye.”